


The Function of Remembering

by still_lycoris



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen, Melancholy, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 15:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16021088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/pseuds/still_lycoris
Summary: Vila wonders what will be remembered afterward.





	The Function of Remembering

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AstroGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstroGirl/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Excerpts from Chapter 23 of Blake's Rebels: A Historical Perspective, with Interludes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25530) by [AstroGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstroGirl/pseuds/AstroGirl). 
  * In response to a prompt by [AstroGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstroGirl/pseuds/AstroGirl) in the [remixrevivalmadness2018](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/remixrevivalmadness2018) collection. 



“What do you think they’ll say about us when we die?”

Vila sort of addressed the question to the room at large, mostly because it had been silent for ages and he was fed up of it. There was too much silence these days. On the _Liberator_ , there had always been noise. Even when people weren’t talking, you could hear the hum of Zen working away. Vila had always liked that noise. It was warm, friendly. 

He’d never realised how friendly the _Liberator_ was, till they’d got _Scorpio_. Till they’d got this base. Who would have thought that luxury could be so depressing?

The room at large didn’t seem to think his question was worth answering. Soolin didn’t even look up from the gun she was cleaning. Tarrant gave him one of his why-are-you-talking looks which Vila was good at ignoring, so he did. Dayna flashed him one of her not-very-nice grins.

“In your case, I doubt anybody will even notice, Vila.”

“Hey!” Vila protested. “That’s not fair! You’d notice for a start!”

“But will we care?” Tarrant, unable to resist joining in, of course.

“I’m not talking about _me_ , I’m talking about _us_. You know, our rebellion? All the work we’ve put into all of this? What do you think they’ll write in the history records?”

Now he thought about it, he was genuinely interested in the answer. He’d never liked history all that much – well, except when learning it told you what was valuable. But still, to be written about somewhere, to have people sitting and learning about _him_ ... well, that would be something, wouldn’t it?

“What they write will all depend on whether we win.” Avon’s voice was flat. Vila hadn’t even noticed him enter the room. “History is always written by the victors. If we win, they’ll write about our heroism. If we lose ... ”

He smiled that twisted smile of his. He’d always had that smile but it hadn’t bothered Vila so much before, maybe because there’d been the other smile too, the rare one that Avon produced when something had somehow managed to make him happy – or as happy as Avon got. Vila had always considered himself fairly good at getting that smile out of Avon.

Somehow, somewhere along the way, Avon had stopped smiling. Vila missed it.

“If we lose?” he prompted, not entirely sure that he wanted Avon to finish.

“If we lose, why, I suppose nobody will remember us at all,” Avon said, softly.

“There’s a cheery thought for you!” Soolin said, her voice slightly mocking. Avon smiled his twisted smile at her.

“If you were hoping for cheery thoughts, you signed up with the wrong crew.”

Vila thought that was true all right. Cheery thoughts seemed something long lost, along with comforting sounds.

He didn’t know why he was so disturbed by it. Maybe it was because of what had happened to Cally. They didn’t talk about her any more. He’d tried to mention her to Avon once and Avon had snarled him into silence. She was dead. Was she already forgotten? And Gan. None of the others had met Gan, except Avon. Gan had been a good man, simple but good and kind. He’d protected Vila ... and Vila hadn’t said his name aloud in years.

That night, he started writing what he supposed was a type of diary. He wasn’t much of a writer. He didn’t suppose it would make much difference.

But he wanted someone to remember.


End file.
